Harry Potter 1. Surrender

I've never known this feeling before. Well—yes, I have, but not this intensely. My heart is pounding, my head spinning—but that's probably from lack of oxygen because I can't breathe. I feel like I could die at any minute—but _that's _probably because my demise seems likely imminent. No, I have never, without a doubt, _ever_ been so terrified in my life. It's suddenly just dawned on me that I can't breathe because Draco Malfoy is choking me, and I feel like I could die because I'm about to pass out and he's showing no sign of releasing me.

I grunt-gasp and claw feebly at his arm and he loosens his steel grip slightly.

I squeak out a pitiful whimper and he drops me to the ground. Okay, ow. Definitely landed wrong there. If I were not so light-headed, I would probably care more.

"_Bastard!_" I manage to gasp.

He smirks at me. "If you can't take the heat…" he kicks me in the stomach—okay, now I know that this is Malfoy we're talking about: merciless bastard, spawn of all evil and all that stuff, so I feel no surprise that he would kick someone while their down (he does it daily, after all), but a _girl_?! Bloody hell, I didn't think even _Malfoy_ could stoop _that _low! "Stay out of the kitchen," he finishes. I look up to see a glint of something—amusement?—flicker through his ice-gray eyes.

"What would _you _know about kitchens?" I mutter, mostly to myself as I attempt to push myself at least into a sitting position. My tone burns with derision like acid, but I'm secretly hoping that he doesn't decide to kick me again.

"You're right," he gives a small chuckle as he kneels down before me. "That's _your_ place isn't it?" I make the mistake of meeting his eyes. Despite his slight distraction of insulting me, he still looks angry, as if he could kick me again—likely in the face. I hope this isn't the case. I like my face the way it is.

"What can I say? I like having the assurance that my food won't be poisoned when I decide to consume it," I give myself a mental pat on the back for my wonderful comeback—It's certainly one of my wittiest were Malfoy is concerned…I usually lose coherency around him…something about his ruthless mocking and heartless sneer.

His Seeker hands flash out and in a split second his iron grasp has trapped my throat once more. He leans over me as I give up and sink to the ground once more, his face hanging over mine like a devil ready to snatch my soul once I die. Or before I die. I bet it wouldn't matter much to him. "I hope you'll take this as a lesson not to mess with me again. Or next time I won't be so lenient," his lips slowly pull back into a small, satisfied smirk as he elicits another hopeless gasp from me by tightening his grasp on my windpipe even more.

I think he might be waiting for an answer from me—some kind of assurance that I won't cross him again or perhaps a plea to spare my life. Even if I _wanted _to say something to him I really don't think I could…my vision is starting to get fuzzy again and my mind is fighting against violent waters that it can't swim.

"Understand me?" he asks for the assurance (or plea, it's even harder to figure out now that I'm sinking into unconsciousness) while releasing his hold on me. My mind floats to the surface slowly, and my lungs start to remember how to work. Air begins to fill me again, but I can't feel its effect on me yet. I nod, fighting the hot tears that sting my eyes. I don't care how close I come to death, I will _not_ cry in his presence. That would give Malfoy _far_ too much pleasure, and he really doesn't need any other kind of victory over me tonight.

I had instantly regretted not accepting that escort back to Gryffindor tower the moment I saw Draco Malfoy doing his patrols, but also felt some sense of relief. After all, it was only Parvati Patil that would have been with me (not much protection) and at this point, I honestly doubt that Malfoy wouldn't have acted on this advantage even if I _hadn't_ been alone.

A low chuckle reaches my ears, and I know that even though it appears he's wrapping up his death threats and has clearly made his point, he's not done with me yet. "What's the matter, Weasley?" he traces a long, slender finger around my neck slowly, chuckling still. "Trouble breathing?"

I close my eyes, not wanting him to see me roll them for fear of inducing more angry bouts of Weasley-beating. I never actually thought Malfoy capable of _this_… I roll to my side, pushing myself up once again. "You're an asshole," I rasp, and the effort to speak sends me into a coughing frenzy that only causes Malfoy to chuckle louder. I lean back against the wall, staring hard into his eyes, no longer afraid to because I'm almost positive that he doesn't feel the need to throttle me anymore…_now_. He is definitely amused by me…as if he's never met anyone so prone to suffocation before me.

He's still kneeling in front of me, as if we still have some business to discuss. I thought everything that needed to be said had been clarified during the strangling. He leans toward me, closing the space between us immensely. His hand trails up to my neck again, to the faint bruises that are no doubt appearing there. "Say, Weasley," he murmurs, his face hovering barely two inches from mine, "if you thought _this_ was bad, you better hope you never cross me again, because you couldn't _imagine_ what else I have in store for you."

I shudder at his words, I really can't help myself, the threat combined with his tone…and I _can _imagine. I know, especially after this physical attack, that he would have no qualms about playing around with some of those Dark Arts curses daddy-dearest has no doubt been teaching him. His smirk grows more pronounced as he witnesses the obvious effect he has on me. "Don't worry," he soothes me, his mocking tone laced with a hint of laughter. "That won't happen if you just stay out of my way."

I glare at him as fiercely as I can manage. My head is throbbing, but I search my brain for the best possible words for what I'm about to say. "I won't stand by and let you get away with this anymore," I hiss softly, a surge of rebellion twisting through my veins. "I don't care what it costs me. You won't continue this any longer."

I wait for the anger to return to his features, but find only a skeptical amusement. "Is that so? Well in that case…" a scorching sting lashes across my face as the back of his hand makes contact with my skin. That is what I hate the most about these encounters with Draco Malfoy—I can never expect what he's about to do, so I can never brace myself for pain when it might be coming. "I look forward to meeting with you again. Though I'd like to know exactly how you plan to stop me."

I turn my eyes from him, resisting the temptation to bring a hand to my smarting cheek. He did it for me, grasping it in his warm hands carefully, as if he didn't want to hurt me. "Hmm?" he inquired. "How do you plan that?"

I refuse to answer him, closing my eyes instead, focusing on breathing and meditation rather than the fact that at any moment that gentle contact could turn harsh in a fraction of a second. Why can't I answer him? I don't _know_ the answer, I realize suddenly, and as I comprehend this, I know that all hope of stopping Malfoy's evil plan and saving the day is completely lost. I've never felt so helpless in my life. Against my determination, a stray tear escapes my eye and leavings a burning trail down my cheek. Malfoy reaches up to wipe at it.

"Ah, I see now," he murmurs softly. "You have no plan. No way to stop me…" he sighs dramatically. "Pity. Well, for _you_, at least," he laughs at this last part. "Quite fortunate for me, though I can't say that you unnerve me in the least, even if you _were_ to have some suicidal plan forming under that thick skull of yours."

"Why are you doing this?" the words leave my mouth of their own accord, and I hate how pitiful and helpless my voice sounds.

"That's none of your concern," he states matter-of-factly. He stands swiftly, nudging me with his foot. "You just worry about keeping yourself alive. It's a very simple concept—just do the exact opposite of what you did today, and _keep it to yourself_."

What I did today…I close my eyes and take a deep, steadying breath through my nose, letting it out slowly and feeling something (relief?) flooding through me. He was done…he was leaving…it was okay to be weak now.

I open my eyes and prepare to stand, and there he still is, watching me cautiously, as if _I _were the one _he_ should be wary of. "What?" I snap, feeling a bit braver now that I'm able to breathe normally again.

He shakes his head a bit, giving the most elegant shrug I've ever seen in my life. "Just studying."

"Studying what?" I am genuinely confused.

He rolls his eyes. "_You_."

I frown, feeling my eyebrows crease down low over my eyes. "Weren't you leaving?"

"_I_ decide when I leave, Weasley."

"And when will that be, do you think?" I don't want to get up with him watching, because I'm not sure if I'll be able to.

Reading my mind, he leans down and grabs my wrist, pulling me up as if I were nothing more than an empty bag. I try to turn away, but his grip tightens on my wrist.

"Was there something else?" I sigh. I really don't want to be around him anymore. "I get it, okay? I'm following you. I understand, comprehend, _whatever_. I don't know how to make it any clearer that your words have registered and been filed away for future reference."

A small smirk forms on his lips as he pulls me closer to him. Too close. I can feel his breath on my neck as I turn my head away; I don't like the look in his eyes.

"I know you understand. You do stupid things, Weasley, but you aren't stupid."

I close my eyes as he speaks. His voice is beautiful, when it isn't spouting out death threats, but the way he's talking is beginning to scare me. My stomach twists, my heart beats a little faster, a little more irregular, and though he isn't choking me, I'm having a bit of difficulty breathing.

"I was too hasty earlier," I remain silent, so he continues. "Even _I_ wasn't thinking it through. You have three options. Stay out of it, or die."

"That's only two," I correct boldly. His grip tightens slightly, the space between us diminishes even more.

"Would you let me finish? Stay out of it, or die. What I can offer you though…" he trails off, contemplating.

"What could _you _offer that would be of any interest to _me_?"

"Money. Power. Recognition. Anything you could ever want—_anything_. Help me on this…and I'll make it worth your while."

"Five minutes ago you were trying to kill me. Now you're asking me to help you?"

"I'm not asking, Weasley," he's getting annoyed again, I can hear it in his tone. Malfoy annoyed is _not _a good thing. "I'm offering. It's up to you. I know you want to say no right now. I know that you think I'm crazy for even considering this—I do too, as a matter of fact…but I also know…"

He drops my wrist, but doesn't move otherwise, except to tilt my face up to meet his gaze. "I know that you're tired of never being noticed. I know that you're awake all night trying to think of ways to get some money so that muggle-loving family of yours doesn't lose that thing you call a house."

I feel my eyes widen ever so slightly, and his lips form a small smirk. "Yes, I know all about that. I also know that you're going to say yes, eventually. It might be tonight, tomorrow, a week from now, but you _will _say yes."

I push the thoughts of my family to the back of my mind, focusing on what he's saying. "Oh? And how do you know that?" I'm rather curious as to his reply, but what he says throws me completely.

He takes a deep breath. "Prophecies are pretty handy, you know. When you're not quite sure what to do, which step comes next, they have all the answers. And who would ever think that there would be a prophecy regarding me and you? Does that seem likely to you? I can see that it doesn't," he chuckles softly, "but it's true, Ginevra Weasley. You and I, we're going to do great things."

The breath is catching in my throat. I can not slow my heart. "That's not true. You're lying."

"Am I? I'll prove it to you."

"How?" I ask doubtfully, for I can't trust or even _begin_ to believe anything he has to say on the subject of him and me.

"Ever seen a pensieve? Those are pretty useful too…I trust you know what they're for…"

I nod. "My dad has one."

"I have the memory, if you don't believe me. We can go right now."

Now I'm _positive_ there's something wrong with Malfoy. He nearly chokes me to death, and now he wants me to willingly go to his room with him, out of the hallway where he could finish the job? This thought makes so much sense to me that I decide to confer it with him. He laughs--of _course_ he laughs.

"You are too funny, Weasley," he chuckles. "Fine, not tonight...some other time?" He's still really close to me, and I decide that a little distance is needed, so I take a step back. He rolls his eyes. "I'm not going to kidnap you, _honestly_," he scoffs, shaking his head. "You act as if I would drag you to my room by force or something."

"Wouldn't you?" I counter swiftly. He raises an eyebrow, but says nothing more. "Not tonight, not ever, Malfoy. Sorry to disappoint, but I'm not playing this game with you."

"Who's playing games?"

It's my turn to scoff, and I do it promptly, crossing my arms over my chest and looking away down the corridor. "Oh _please_! It's a game for you, I know it is! Try to kill me and then try to get me to _join _you? I don't think so, Malfoy." _This is all meant to confuse me! _I think angrily. _You're just messing with my head! It's not going to work, not this time! No sir!_

"No game, Weasley. You _will _join me," he's too confident with his words, and I don't like it.

"Now _that_ sounds like a threat."

He raises his hands, as if he's completely innocent or something. "No threat," he denies. Then, as confident and arrogant as ever, he adds, "It's not a threat. It's a certainty. Fact is, Weasley, it's going to happen. I know, I was surprised when I found out as well. Think about it, alright? Not that it would matter...no manner of convincing yourself otherwise can change what you're going to do in the end. It's destiny. Fate."

I turn back to him to glare and find myself suddenly trapped in his intense, cold gaze. "Well it just so happens that I don't believe in destiny or fate or any of that predestined crap."

A small smirk forms on his lips as he shakes his head. "You say that as if it actually makes a difference," he chuckles. "But I know," he's suddenly intense once more, all amusement washed from his features, his eyes hard and penetrating into my very soul. "I know how you think, and I know how you are, and I know that I'm getting to you right now--planting that small seed of doubt in the back of your mind, which will eventually grow and consume your thoughts and feelings. The roots will dig themselves deep into your brain, and the vines will lash out and cloud your vision and begin to persuade you and then--then, at the very moment that happens, I'll be calling to you, and you'll come to me. You will come to me, Ginevra Weasley, and then the real fun begins."

That's the second time he used my full name during this encounter and I am beginning to hate it more and more. What's worse, now he's going and closing the space between us again, reaching his hand up to my face. His fingers brush across my cheek lightly and I can not look away from him. I'm trapped by his probing gaze and frozen in place by the feeling of his warm fingers against my cold skin. I long to pull away but fear to--the sensation of suddenly feeling intimate with this boy is so alarming and inconceivable that it has sent me into a spiralling and uncontrollable vertigo. The world falls away and I am here, with Draco Malfoy, caught in a hallway halfway between the library and Gryffindor Tower, completely helpless and mesmerized. What's even worse than all this--I fear that the seed he has just spoke of has aleady sprouted vines that are thrashing about in my mind. He touches my cheek, and suddenly I want to go with him. A small part of my mind is wondering if perhaps Malfoy has a bit of Veela in that purebred blood of his.

He pulls me closer yet, and I surrender completely, for reasons entirely unknown to me. His amazed whisper and satisfied smirk are only partially being registered in my brain as he breaths, "Well, now, that was fast." I can do nothing but let my eyes close and nod. "Come with me?" he asks then, and I almost say yes.

Almost.

I somehow manage to escape the wonderland that he was weaving around us and pull myself away. I turn and walk away, and he doesn't follow me. My head spins and my mind is clouded in a most uncomfortable way. He almost had me. Fifteen minutes, and he almost had me. I wonder vaguely how long I can withstand this torture, these meetings. I hope there isn't another one soon.

He almost had me. My cheek is still warm where his hand rested. My mind is still clouded with his smooth talking. My nerves still scream and tingle and the very _thought_ of being so close to him.

My stomach still aches where he kicked me.


	2. Lessons Learned

A/N: Sorry for the delay, but you can trust me when I say you'll prolly have to wait a lot longer than this for more updates…Senior year is ending and graduation and everything is way hectic right now

* * *

I received a note this morning, asking me to make a detour from my patrols tonight to meet her up in the Astronomy Tower. I thought there was a class tonight, but I must have been mistaken—heavy clouds cover the sky, making it impossible to see anything but rolling gray as the wind swirls the haze around.

I've been waiting here for nearly ten minutes now; she must be running late. With her luck she's probably gotten stopped by Filch or Peeves. I contemplate returning to my patrols and am about to leave when the door swings open and she steps in, looking slightly ruffled and out of breath.

"What happened to you?" I ask, taking the girl in.

"Neville caught me on my way out of the Common Room and kept pestering me about the newest plant his grandmother sent him. As if I care, " she scoffs, "Thanks for meeting me, Hermione."

I shake my head. "Not a problem, Gin. That note sounded somewhat serious. Is something wrong?"

She hesitates. She's thinking something through, I can tell. That's the answer, right there—something _is _wrong, but she can't decide if she wants to tell me.

"No," she answers slowly. "Nothing's _wrong_, I just…wanted to talk."

I can feel my eyebrows tugging down over my eyes in suspicion and try to lighten my features. "Talk? Must be something pretty important, if you made me stopped my rounds and snuck out of Gryffindor in order to do so. We could have talked in the Common Room, or library, Gin," I'm not even trying to hide my annoyance now—the Head Girl's rounds are very important, and both of us, not just Ginny, would be in trouble if we were caught up here chatting. I'm not sure if students are even allowed up here if it's not for Astronomy work.

"I know," she looks away, trying not to meet my eyes—another tip off that something is bothering her. "I just thought it would be best if we discussed this away from…everything. It's not something any ears should catch wind of, if you get my point."

"What is it, Ginny?" I'm getting fed up with this conversation already, knowing which direction it's going in, and knowing that it's not good. "What's on your mind?" I attempt to lighten up and be cordial to the girl—obviously it must be important if she went to these measures to talk, so I should probably be a bit more supportive. I lean up against the balcony and wait for her to start talking. She walks over to the edge of the balcony, stopping a few feet away and facing the Forbidden Forest.

I study what I can of the expression on her face (the side I can see) and find that contemplative and conflictive thoughts must be running through her head. She's frowning, and staring at the dark forest; her eyes seem sad. I wonder what this is all about.

"I don't know where to start."

"Is it a problematic situation, or person?" I ask, moving in on my hunch that she's in some sort of conflict about _something_.

Her frown deepens. "Both."

"Well who is it?" I ask. Wrong question, for her frown deepens even more, and a new emotion has risen to her face.

Minutes of silence pass as I let her decide whether or not she wants to fess up and tell me everything. Knowing Ginny, I trust that she will. I'm right.

"Draco Malfoy," she says at last.

"Has he been giving you gruff again, Gin? Just tell Ron or Harry—they'll take care of him," Draco Malfoy bothering Ginny is not very common, but certainly not unheard of. Though I wonder if that might be the case, because Ginny never let anything about him affect her before this. We've all learned to ignore Malfoy; some days are harder than others, but Ginny has never _really_ had a problem with the stupid prat.

She shakes her head slowly, propping her elbows up on the balcony and resting her head in her hands. "It's not so much like that," she says slowly. "It's more like…" she trails off, turning away from me completely. I can hear her mutter, "Merlin, if he found out," softly before she takes a deep breath and turns to face me. "He's up to something."

"Malfoy is _always_ up to _something_, Ginny," I point out. "I mean we've all had problems with the git, but he's never _really_ done anything terrible."

"Something big," Ginny elaborates. "Really big. Terrible, and big."

I frown, moving closer to my best friend's sister. "Terrible like how?"

She opens her mouth and closes it again. "He wants me to join him, Hermione. He said that there's a prophecy regarding him and I, and that I'm going to help him."

"Prophecy?" I push it aside for the time being. "Help him _what_, Ginny? What is he doing?"

She doesn't answer me. Instead, she turns back to look out at the Forbidden Forest, and then up to the cloud-ridden sky. I follow her gaze to find the dim light of a full moon shining down faintly, suffocated by the gray clouds. "I couldn't do it, could I? Betray everyone like that? I couldn't really join _him_, could I?"

I think on the answer. I want to say, 'No, of course not!' instantly, but hold my tongue, contemplating. It _has _been known to happen. Pettigrew betrayed his friends to join Voldemort, and he was a Gryffindor. But Ginny is a Weasley; she's stronger than that. Isn't she?

"I'll take your silence as a yes," she says bitterly.

"No, Ginny! No, I was just thinking, I mean really _thinking_ about the question. I think you could—everyone _could_. But I don't think you would. I think you're stronger than that."

"Malfoy's pretty convincing," she says softly, closing her eyes. _She's remembering something, I can feel it. Malfoy has already gotten to her; threatened her into joining the Dark Side._ "_Very_ convincing," she continues. "He had me brainwashed in fifteen minutes with his words alone," her head drops into her hands once more, and I can see that she's wiping at her eyes. Crying. "I'd like to believe you, I really would. But I don't know if I'm as strong as you think."

I move to put a comforting hand on her shoulder, but she pulls away, taking a deep breath. "This is a bad idea. I should have left you out of this. If Malfoy finds out I'm done for."

Anger and disgust fills me as I realize what kind of hold that slimy git has on my good friend. _She's scared of him_. _She is so terrified of him that she can't even tell me what's going on!_ I hate Draco Malfoy ten times more than I already do, and though I long to tell Harry and Ron about this incident so they can tear him apart, I know that I can't, for fear of what should happen to Ginny. He would obviously know she gave him up if those two brutes caught him in a hallway and pummeled him with all they had.

"I changed my mind," she says abruptly, turning away from me again. "I don't want to talk about it. You should go finish your rounds. I'm going back to Gryffindor in a minute, I just need some air."

I take a step toward her. "Are you sure, Gin? I could—"

* * *

"No, Hermione, just finish your rounds," I say curtly, becoming angry with myself for one, dragging her into it in the first place and two, being so rude to my friend. "I don't want to discuss it anymore."

I don't hear the door close, so I assume she's still there behind me, trying to interfere even more. "I don't want to discuss it anymore," I say again, more firmly this time.

"You shouldn't have been discussing it at all."

Terror flows through my veins, freezing me in place as if turning to ice inside of me. I somehow manage to turn, ever so slowly, to see my fear confirmed: Draco Malfoy is standing behind me, and by the look on his face, I can tell that he heard every word of my little chat with Hermione.

* * *

That little bint. It was all I could do not to throw off my Invisibility Cloak and throttle her on the spot, even _with_ the Mudblood there. I was delighted when Granger left her alone, and it grew even more when it was so obvious that she was completely terrified by the sound of my voice.

I'm wondering how much more she can take. She seemed tougher a few nights ago, during my last little session of punishment. She's gasping at my feet, trying not to cry. Merlin, I love making her cry.

I crouch down in front of her, tilting her head up to make her face me. "Did I not tell you not to cross me again? You made a _very_ big mistake, Weasley. And now look what's happened. Look at yourself, clawing around at my feet. How much more is it going to take before you learn your lesson?" I slap her across the cheek, hard as I can, eliciting another pitiful cry from those full, crimson lips of hers.

"I'm—I'm sorry," she gasps, attempting to slide away from me. Not happening. I take a hold of her bright, red hair and stand, yanking upwards, bringing her to her knees in one swift, painful move. "I'm sorry!" she cries again.

"Not half as sorry as you're going to be," I say softly, kneeling in front her again. "What did I say? Do you remember what I said? What did I say, Weasley?" I hiss angrily, yanking her hair again.

"N-not to do it again," she gasps softly.

"And what did you do?" I ask, tugging her hair a third time to bring her even closer to me. "What did you do?"

"Told Hermione."

"That's right, you did. I underestimated you, Weasley. You really _are_ that stupid. Have you no sense of self-preservation? Did you somehow think that I wouldn't find out?" I release her hair and stand, using my foot against her chest to push her back down to the ground.

"I didn't tell her everything," she whimpers. How pathetic.

"I know, and how lucky for you that you didn't, or the consequences would be even _worse_ for you."

"I'm sorry," she apologizes again. "I won't—"

"That's what you said last time, isn't it? Don't I recall you agreeing that you shouldn't cross me again?" I pull out my wand, deciding on a whim to bring her pain up to the next level.

She eyes it, having pushed herself up to a sitting position against the balcony. I contemplate throwing her over the edge, but I can't have her dying. Not when I need her to succeed. "What are you doing?" she asks as I step towards her, aiming my wand.

"As much as I love hearing you scream, I really can't risk you waking up the whole castle. _Silencio_."

She stares at me in mute horror as I ponder which spell to use on her. I decide to go with a classic, knowing that the commonness of it won't deter any of the effects. "_Crucio!_"

She's sobbing when I finish the curse, and I regret that I can't hear her pitiful whimpers any longer. "So much for lessons learned, eh, Weasley?"

I kneel in front of her, wiping at the tears that are streaming down her cheeks. She's shaking so hard it's a wonder her teeth aren't chattering. "Now will you please, for _your_ sake, just stop this nonsense and keep quiet?"

She nods, though I have much doubt that the little bint will, in fact, be able to keep that trap of hers shut. "Weasley," I say softly, tilting her face up so her eyes are looking into mine. I make sure to put as much concern in my voice as I possibly can. "I don't give second chances, and I would _never_ repeat a mistake like that, so you're really quite lucky that I'm being so kind to you. _Don't_," I wrap my fingers around that tiny neck of hers--I love choking her, "do it _again_," I growl. "I really _would_ like to keep you alive, but you're making it very difficult for me."

The silencing charm is still in place, so it's a bit harder to tell how close she is to passing out. Usually I can go by those pitiful little gasps and squeals of hers. I release her just for the hell of it and take the charm off. "Can I trust that you won't be foolish enough to make the same mistake three times?"

She nods, holding her neck and blinking tears out of her eyes.

Another great night, as far as I'm concerned. Funny how dealing her with muckups are so irritating and entertaining all at once.

* * *

A/N: I know it's kind of short, but at least it's up, right? Right? Review please! 


	3. Alone Time

I feel like I've been hit by a bus. My throat is sore today, and my head is pounding. Hermione keeps looking at me as if I may lose it at any minute, and I keep catching Draco Malfoy's eye across the hall.

I hate my life.

He's watching me, I realize after meeting his eyes for the third time in ten minutes. He's watching my every move for assurance that I won't mess up again. From all the way across the Great Hall there's no way he could tell exactly _what_ I'd be saying to my peers, as long as I carefully kept everything masked.

No way to tell…meaning that we could be talking about the weather and he could assume the worst and start coming after them as well… For everyone's safety, including my own, I do not speak to anyone. In any case, I shouldn't have to remain mute much longer, because he can't very well follow me to class can he?

He can, actually. He's been doing it all day. Very subtly, of course—I'm sure no one else but me has noticed—but who would even begin to think that Draco Malfoy would be stalking me of all people, even if they _did_ notice? Screwed either way, I decide. It's pretend not to notice or simply ignore it and don't muck up again.

Both are very difficult—_especially_ today. I have many people asking me if something's bothering me, and I don't feel up to lying to anyone, so I simply remain silent and let them draw their own conclusions. How can he have such a hold on me?

It's after Care of Magical Creatures and on my way down to the dungeons for Potions when he decides to draw me aside, pulling me into a dark closet out of the public's eye.

"Why are you following me?" I shoot out before he can say anything.

It's too dark to see him properly, but I'm sure he's sneering or, at the very least, has an eyebrow cocked. "I should think that would be obvious. I really had hoped I wouldn't have to baby-sit you but…it appears you're trickier than I thought."

I sigh. "We've been over this, alright? Especially after last night, you should know—"

"Last night," he interrupts, drawing ever closer to me. "Last night was a mistake. I was upset, and I let my anger get the best of me, and I shouldn't have. I apologize."

I'm frozen in time. Is this a dream, or did Draco Malfoy actually just say those words to me? "Apologize?" I mumble to myself, and one hand is on the small of my back, drawing me against his chest softly.

"Yes, I apologize," he repeats. He smells so good, I want to inhale deeply, but don't. "I shouldn't have taken such drastic measures so soon," I'm drawn fully against him now, and his lips are brushing up my neck to my ear. My blood pumps faster. "Forgive me?" he whispers huskily, and I'm suddenly feeling so many different and extreme emotions that I could pass out. If it weren't for his amazing cologne I probably would have stopped breathing.

I don't know what he's playing at, but I find myself nodding and muttering, "Sure," before I can help myself. And before I know what's happening, my eyes are closed and his lips are pressed against mine and for the briefest of moments, I'm in bliss—for the briefest of moments. Because after a split second of contact we are apart again, though I'm still pressed flush against him (mostly of my own accord, I believe), and my head drops down to rest on his shoulder as I focus on breathing.

"What just happened?" I'm still breathless, whether it's from the cologne or the kiss or just _him_ I'm not sure. What I do know was that a very thick line had just been crossed, and rather than wanting to deck Malfoy, I wanted to figure out some way to erase it—or, at the very least, find out how to cross it again.

His hands trail up slowly from my waist, up my arms and come to rest on my shoulders. I look up at him (or what I can see of him at least) and find his lips, once again, inches from my own. I long to close the space for reasons I can't identify, but he speaks before I can, breaking my train of thought.

"Come with me, hmm?" he asks, and for a moment I'm not sure what he means.

"I have Potions," I answer dumbly. He chuckles.

"I mean this summer, after school. Come with me—you know—to _him_."

I'm only a teenager, and hormones can't be helped, right? I repeat these facts in my head so I won't feel guilty for wanting to accept his offer. I would do anything if I could be like this with him all the time—anything. Funny, because I don't think I even _like_ Malfoy very much. Well--I _thought_ I didn't. At this point I can't really be sure.

"I have Potions," I repeat softly, turning my head away from his face. If I can't see his eyes, he can't hypnotize me. To no avail, it seems, because to counter this move he ducks his head lower and takes my chin to turn my head softly. I do not understand this. Last night, I wanted to die for the pain he was causing me, and now, less than twenty-four hours later, I feel I could die if I didn't have his touch.

"Skip it," he says, very much seductively, and _very_ much on purpose. My head starts to spin again. "Just stay with me for awhile."

I want to. I know I want to. _He_ knows I want to. But we both know that I shouldn't--we also both know that I will. Only he knows why.

To make his point, and, I trust, to ensure that I won't somehow weasel myself away from him and go to Potions, he wraps his arms around me, pulling me flush against himself once again, and resting his forehead on mine. This is going way too fast for comfort, but even if there _was_ something I could do about it, I know that I wouldn't--I'm loving this feeling far too much.

Of course I've been intimate with boys before, but it's so much more intense with Draco Malfoy, because it's wrong, and bad, and it always feels so amazing to rebel. So, even knowing that I could be disowned by my family if (and when, most likely, because I don't intend for this to be a one-time meeting) this ever got out to the public, I stand in the closet, wrapped in the arms of my enemy, and feeling more safe and comfortable than I ever have in my life.

* * *

I love holding her almost as much as I love making her cry. This is a scary realization, because it isn't the way things should be going. I should be threatening her to join me, not seducing her. I can't stop myself from it, in any case. I let my arms wrap around her, and I let my hand cup her stunning face, and I let my lips brush against hers--we both know I shouldn't, we both know it's wrong--I guess I just always _liked_ breaking the rules. 

In any case, it's too late now. I've gotten inside her thoughts because of my actions in that closet (none of which, regrettably, were planned) but it works two ways--she is now all that I think about. I don't get all love-sick with girls--I just don't. I'm Draco Malfoy, for Merlin's sake! I'm a heart-breaker, not a romantic. And she _knows_ that I'm a heart-breaker, so she must really be warped if she's going to let herself get lost in me anyways.

I just can't get over how perfectly she fits inside my arms, how our lips lock together like two pieces of a puzzle, how she squeaks when she can't breath and how she's sobbing when she can.

I love making her cry--that will never change, whether I'm interested in her or not.

But I really wish I didn't love holding her so damn much.

* * *

I sometimes wonder if Draco doesn't know that I can delve into his mind at any given moment. If he does he certainly doesn't do much to protect his thoughts. Upon doing so I have learned that he feels something for that girl he's supposed to be converting. She's been causing him trouble, and he rewards with alone-time in a closet? What a fool.

She could be the undoing of him, if things got out of hand. But I do trust that Draco Malfoy would never let that happen. He knows what would happen if he did, and he values his own life far too much to let that happen. Yet still, I feel a slight discomfort due to the fact that I know nothing of this girl, other than the fact that she's near and dear to Harry Potter, and a very powerful ally in this war. Just a little girl and yet, all that potential lies beneath the feminine surface. She's not even malicious like Bellatrix--she's sweet and innocent, and won't be very easy to convert.

Draco seems to be doing a fine job, however, if she feels the way that he feels about her. So what does it matter if, in the end, she's with us?

* * *

so here's this one...slightly more short, but much more better (to quote Captain Jack D) so...review! 


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Harry Potter, Drama, Humor